Something like this:

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Good ol' Fred Bigsby, squinting at starsHe waxes poetic about racing carsDown roads that were paved by ProhibitionOutrunning the cops to fulfill his missionTo bring home the booze that pow'rful moonshine"If I make enough money, that girl would be mine!"But no, instead, he shines shoes at the stationThat girl will never look in his direction.

UPDATE:I've been harassed by a fellow eBayer (who shall remain nameless) who notes that in the last two lines, "station" and "direction" don't rhyme. Fine. Here are a few alternatives:

But no, he toils in retail all dayThat girl will never look his way.

But no, instead, he rids homes of antsThat girl will never give him a chance.

But no, instead, he works as a minerThat girl's boyfriend will give him a shiner.

But no, instead, he barbecues porkThat girl will only think he's a dork.

But no, instead, he's an art teacherThat girl won't be seen with such a creature.

I was in art class waiting for a still life to dry, filling the time working on this aceo. My art teacher, who bears a resemblance to Eugene Levy only when I draw/paint him, saw it and said "Ooh! Zombie love!"

Who am I to argue? Anyway, the topic for this week's IF is COMMUNICATION. It looks to me like this Zombie Couple is having a tiff, and not really speaking to each other. Come on, now. Nobody likes a petulant zombie.

My hard work has paid off: I have now been appointed Artist In Residence by none other than local BILLIONAIRE Percy Walker. I'm not sure what my obligations are, but considering he's a BILLIONAIRE I'm pretty sure they'll be whatever the hell he wants. So if I start snubbing you, you now know why.

I work hard for my money. So hard for it, honey. I work hard for my money, so you better let me sleep in on the weekend. Unless, of course, there's a big owl sitting in the pines outside the apartment.

Such was the case this morning. I'm woken by Iris coming in with the dog. "GET UP! THERE'S AN OWL OUTSIDE!" She then leaves with the camera. "Coffee?" I say, meekly, to the closed door.

I get dressed and go outside. "Take your time," she says sarcastically. I look up, and there he was. To get his attention, Iris says in her best owl impression, "Who cooks for You! Who cooks for You!" Doesn't work. I, however, am the Beastmaster. I know the language of owls.

Spanish.

"Hey, mi amigo! Como esta? Mira aqui con sus ojos grandes!"

That worked. He looked right at me. Then he swooped down, silently, and ripped my scalp off.

Bluebirds for me are the Tom Petty of birds. I've always enjoyed Tom Petty. I wouldn't say he's my favorite, but I never change the station when he comes on the radio. Same deal with the bluebird. It's always a treat to see them flitting about.